


The Colors at Night

by warsfeil



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 17:42:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1574144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warsfeil/pseuds/warsfeil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aomine and Kise find the time to drink, in their busy schedules, which is good, because they're both horny drunks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Colors at Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cotton candy bingo; prompt "intoxication".

Kise was, without a doubt, a little drunk. He was aware of the fact, though, which he figured meant he wasn't nearly as drunk as he _could_ be, so he slid an arm around Aomine to steady himself and laughed at the way the world spun its colors.

"Aominecchi," he said, nuzzling into Aomine's neck and mussing up the high collar of the shirt Kise had made him wear. "Let's go home." 

Aomine glanced at him and it took about two seconds for him to process the look on Kise's face; the look in his eyes and the tilt of his mouth. It was a second longer than usual, which meant Aomine was more than a little drunk, too, but that was why they'd taken a cab, that was why they hadn't started drinking until the party had wound down, that was why it was eleven at night in the hotel ballroom and the only people left were Kise's manager and publicist and other people that didn't care how wrinkled Aomine's shirt collar was. 

"Yeah," Aomine said. He didn't have any degree of Kise's subtlety-- never had, that was part of his appeal-- so he fisted his hands in Kise's own shirt, dragged him in for a kiss that tasted like sake and didn't let go until Kise was wrapped around him and they were both in danger of falling.

The world kept spinning the entire way home: the lights of the city at night flared around Kise like fireflies, and he laughed back into Aomine's lips in the back of the cab. The driver stared ahead, unphased by the men in the back seat who couldn't quite keep track of their hands long enough to keep them away from each other, but he smiled all the same when they got to Kise's apartment. 

When he dropped his keys trying to get the door open, Kise felt sixteen again, not a decade and change older. Aomine leaned down to get them and Kise reached out to place a hand on his ass, half just to put it there and half because it was very attractive. 

"Aren't you the one always telling me--" Aomine started, getting the door open with a shove and dragging Kise in by his belt. "--not to do that kind of shit in public?"

"Yeah," Kise agreed, shoving the door closed and shoving Aomine back against it, both because it looked attractive and because he was losing his grip on the tilting floor otherwise. "That doesn't mean I can't do it."

Kise swallowed whatever response Aomine might have made otherwise. He slid his hands up Aomine's chest, unbuttoned the shirt with more dexterity than he thought he possessed right then and threw his arms around Aomine's neck.

"How drunk are you?" Kise asked, looking at Aomine with eyes that reflected the lights shining in through the window of the dark apartment.

Aomine's answer was to wrap his arms around Kise, heft him up like Kise wasn't 80 kilograms. Kise wrapped a leg around Aomine and decided if Aomine was sober enough to carry him, then that meant he had more of an ability to concentrate than Kise, which didn't seem fair -- so he leaned in to bite at Aomine's neck.

Aomine almost dropped him on the hallway floor. Then Aomine _did_ drop him, onto the bed, and Kise bounced back, propped himself up on his elbows and gave Aomine his best seductive look. It didn't seem to work, because Aomine snorted a little, but Kise's pride took refuge in the fact that this was the man who once picked his nose while on the bench during a match and it had become one of the most liked pictures on social media for awhile. 

"You look better when you just look like you," Aomine said, and Kise almost felt bad about thinking about the nose thing, because Aomine was charming, really, but then Aomine was kissing him again and he forgot to think about much of anything else, really.

Aomine was messy with the way he took Kise's clothes off; haphazard, like he didn't really care what part he was tugging on so long as the end result would be the same. Kise assisted by getting in the way trying to take off Aomine's pants, and after the third time they bumped wrists, Aomine let out an irritated noise, leaned back, shoved his pants down off his hips, took a few extra seconds to get off his socks and then finally looked at Kise.

"There," he muttered, and there was some statement on the tip of his tongue, but Kise didn't get to hear that, either, because he interrupted by grabbing Aomine's cock. 

"Fuck," Aomine groaned, his reaction immediate, pleasure overriding the alcohol in his system. Or maybe working with the alcohol? Kise wasn't sure how you were supposed to tell, but everything seemed to be happening in instant seconds: Aomine's hands on him in an instant, Aomine's mouth on him in an instant, Kise's naked back against the cold sheets in an instant. 

Kise leaned back further into the bed, back arching up slightly when Aomine started to leave kisses down his chest, pausing to bite lightly at every rib as he passed it. Kise was more than content to let Aomine lavish attention on him, even if it meant trading his own grip on Aomine for a grip on the pillows above his head. 

"Aominecchi," he sighed, breathing the name out and letting it linger on the lights as Aomine licked a stripe across Kise's hip.

Reaching down, Kise fisted his hands into Aomine's hair and pulled him back up, gentle and forceful at the same time.

"No," Kise said, because that wasn't what he wanted; didn't think he'd have the energy to stay awake if Aomine blew him first, and Kise enjoyed making Aomine come too much to miss out on an opportunity just because he was drunk. "Just -- like this." And Kise wrapped his hand around Aomine again, and Aomine shoved his hips forward, thrust his cock into Kise's hand and groaned again, low and genuine and the noise crept into Kise's ears and nested there.

"Yeah," Aomine agreed, before he shifted up a little onto his knees to make sure they both had room, to make sure that _he_ had room to fist his own hand around Kise's cock and move it up and down.

Kise moaned, loud and appreciative. It might have seemed like it was a touch fake, if his head wasn't still buzzing with the earlier alcohol, occupying every square inch of mind he had and forcing it to pay more attention to the hand on his cock than to how he looked and sounded.

"Aominecchi," Kise said, already desperate, already feeling the pleasure in every fibre of his being. "Aominecchi, come on."

Aomine grunted in response, peppering small bites down Kise's collarbone, just hard enough to leave marks that would fade by morning. He moved his hand in a sloppy rhythm that matched the way he was shifting his hips, thrusting his own cock into Kise's hand until he was breathless.

"Ryouta," he said, the name catching in his throat on the way out. He bit down on Kise's shoulder, and when he came, it was sudden enough that he bit down hard enough to bruise, jerking his head away and burying it into Kise's chest as he shuddered through the aftermath. To his credit, he didn't stop moving his hand, and when orgasm hit Kise, it was blinding white, overpowered all the other colors of the world and left him warm and content.

"We should drink more often," Aomine mumbled, rolling half-off of Kise and then tugging him closer. Kise tugged the blankets up to guard against the chill that would start settling in immediately as their skin cooled. He absently wiped himself off with a spare corner of the bedsheet. He could clean up properly tomorrow morning... it wasn't that far away.

"We don't have time for that." Not between modeling and games and training, anyway. Half the time they barely had the energy for sex, much less enough room to go out drinking and come home when they were both still in the luxurious throes of inebriated arousal.

"Yeah, well. We should make time."

"Okay," Kise agreed, nuzzling his head until it was pressed against Aomine's, until their bodies were pressed close enough together to render the blankets almost wholly unnecessary. 

In the morning, Kise would wake up an hour late; realize he'd forgotten to set his alarm and rush all the way to work. Aomine would throw the blankets into the washing machine and leave before the cycle finished. Kise's manager would scowl at the bruise on his shoulder; the stylist would sigh and cover it up with makeup and tell him he should be grateful that the swimsuit shoot had been rescheduled to next week. Kise would swear not to get drunk again for a least a month, if it caused him this much grief, and Aomine would agree whole-heartedly after the amount of laps he'd been made to run as punishment for being late to practice.

A week later, Aomine would come home with a bottle of sake and a grin on his face, and Kise wouldn't protest at all.


End file.
